A Game of Croquet
by DjDangerLove
Summary: "Saturday afternoons were a bit of a marvel to Peter Burke. For such horror he saw in the world through his work at the FBI, the beauty he found in the small things like Saturday afternoons seemed to equal out the universe in some ways." A friendship one-shot. No slash!


**Another random one-shot as I anxiously await Tuesday! I'm equally excited because I get to spend the whole day on the beach before watching the premiere of season 4! :D **

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Saturday afternoons were a bit of a marvel to Peter Burke. For such horror he saw in the world through his work at the FBI, the beauty he found in the small things like Saturday afternoons seemed to equal out the universe in some ways. He sat on the back porch step of his house sipping on a cold bottle of beer his wife had graciously brought to him minutes before, while staring out at his back lawn. The two small trees standing in his yard did their best to stand at attention despite the small gusts of wind blowing by and stealing some of their leaves. Dying orange sunlight spilled through the holes left by the missing leaves and casted a glare onto his freshly cut grass below that seemed to burst with a perfect shade of green at the joy of being manicured.

Satchmo rolled onto his back and twisted from side to side in gleeful spirit of being outside in the grass and feeling the sun upon his golden fur. The sound of his collar jingling accompanied the sounds of children's voices playing outside in distant and nearby yards and streets along with the normal ambiance of the outskirts of the busy city. His wife's voice filtered through his ears followed by another familiar voice, then another, their conversation making the corner of his mouth turn up in an amused smile.

The smell of smoke from the grill carried underneath the smell of the burgers cooking on the grill. Peter heard his stomach growl and took another sip of beer. As if sensing that he was trying to keep his mind off food, Elizabeth sat down beside him. He felt her arm snake around his crying stomach while her other held a bag of what appeared to be the best bag of potato chips he'd ever seen.

"Oh, thank God!" He chuckled while crunching on a few. "I'm starving!"

"I can tell." Elizabeth shared the laugh as Peter just kept eating the chips. "But I figured since you're the one slaving away preparing dinner for once and it isn't pot roast, I could let you snack a little."

"Thanks hon." He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Well, you do cook a mean pot roast." She chuckled and kissed him before leaning back with a mischievous grin. "You better not burn my burger."

Suddenly remembering the meat on the grill and smelling more smoke, he jumped up and went to flip the burgers.

* * *

"You think we should tell them it's ready?" Elizabeth asked, sitting down next to Peter at the table outside on the porch. She began assembling her burger, as did her husband.

"Nah, let's let them figure it out. When's the last time you treated yourself to dinner and a show?" He grinned playfully before taking a bite of his burger and turning to watch the humorous scene in his backyard.

"Neal, croquet is a delicate game and one must incorporate patience and concentration along with natural derived talent to win." Mozzie explained as he squared his shoulders for what felt like the hundredth time to Neal who stood restlessly behind him.

Finally, after four minutes of preparation, Mozzie made to hit the ball. In mid swing Neal 'accidentally' bumped into him causing the ball to miss its designated wicket. The short man's shoulder deflated before he turned sourly to Neal who grinned impishly at him.

"Neal-" But Mozzie's rant was cut short by Peter's voice.

"It's alright, Mozzie. Neal's just being a bad sport about the game because he doesn't have patience or concentration for any sort of legal activities."

"Who said this game was legal?" Neal questioned, leaning his weight on his mallet. "We've got at least fifteen under age bets on this game, easy. But don't worry," He said noticing Peter's sour expression, "most of them are on me. While I may or may not have patience or concentration, I do have natural derived talent."

Peter tilted his head back with a dramatic curious expression on his face. "Um, aren't you forgetting the allegedly part?"

Neal laughed and a gave an innocent smile. "Yeah, allegedly. But that doesn't go for my natural derived talent. No, that's the real deal."

Peter laughed, as did Elizabeth, both clearly amused at Neal's optimism. "Oh really? What's the score, Neal?"

Neal took his weight off his mallet and straightened, pretending to prepare for his next turn so he wouldn't have to answer the question.

Mozzie, however, took Neal's silence as an invitation to speak up again. "While the score card has _un-mysteriously _went missing, I can assure you that I am winning by a significant amount seeing as how Neal has yet to make a wicket."

The Burke's laughter grew as Neal missed the next wicket as if confirming Mozzie's point, and earned a smile from the short, balding man as well. Neal sighed dramatically and propped his weight against the mallet once more while hanging his head. He blew out a deep breath. "Okay, I wasn't really wanting to say this but seeing as how I am being harassed for my croquet skills I'm just going to point out that I am technically injured so you can see why my talent might be lacking."

"So you're saying your self pity is causing you to lose." Peter confirmed taking a swig of beer, trying his best not to spill it due to the fact he was still smiling as he put the bottle up to his lips.

"Whose side are you on?" Neal asked incredulity.

"His." Peter nodded toward Moz. "My bet was with Mozzie." Upon Neal's jaw-dropping, Peter bit back the urge to laugh. "What? You underestimate me."

"Clearly." Neal replied, doing his best to act hurt by the agent's words.

"Aw, don't worry Neal. My bet is on you and I didn't hear any rule in which you couldn't have a teammate." Elizabeth interjected, standing up from the table and walking over to him. "Now, go eat before it gets cold and watch how it's done."

Neal grinned and passed the mallet to her, making sure to catch Mozzie's dumbfounded, yet respectful look he gave to the woman.

* * *

Neal eased himself down gingerly into the chair opposite Peter, making sure not to agitate his bruises, before taking a bite of his burger.

"So," Peter questioned after he watched Elizabeth make her second wicket, "you still feeling good?"

Neal nodded while he finished chewing, then swallowed heavily. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You sure?" Peter pressed after noticing how carefully Neal had sat down.

"Yeah, just sore, but what do expect after being in the hands of the Irish mob?" Neal grinned at the agent, who felt something heavy in his chest. He pushed it down and smiled back before putting his beer to his lips again.

They sat and ate in companionable silence as they watched Elizabeth quickly catch Mozzie in points. The agent noticed Neal slowing down when he had ate about half of his food, his stomach still a little on the mend from the beating he took from his time with the Irish mob after an operation gone wrong. Sensing that the man would keep eating so that no one would take notice, Peter tried to distract him.

"I think we better go interject before a friendly game of croquet turns into an Olympic event, don't you?"

Neal grinned, pleased he didn't have to eat anymore, but grateful that Peter had been the one to silently allow him to stop. "Yeah."

* * *

"All bets are off. Neal clearly did not score all those points, so the bet is thrown." Mozzie argued after losing to Neal, but technically to Elizabeth.

"Fine." Elizabeth agreed. "I guess I'll just have to play you in a game of badminton."

"Agreed, Mrs. Suit. You and I shall duel in a game of Birdie." Mozzie stated while picking up a racket.

"Birdie?"

"Yeah, that's what we call it." Neal supplied, sitting down in the grass and leaning against a tree while preparing to be fully entertained with a game of badminton.

"Okay, so who do have? Mrs. Suit or the Quirk?" Peter asked, sitting down beside him while taking out his wallet to place a legit bet of five dollars.

"Nice!" Neal chuckled. "The Quirk, that's good. It _suits _him."

It was Peter turn to chuckle. "Well played. So who is it?"

"I'm going with the Quirk on this. Moz might be vertically challenged but...he's got some real Birdie skills."

"What? After my wife just beat him at croquet? You must really have some faith in your man. You know I can't bet against my wife, but even if I could I wouldn't. She's really good."

"So it shall be an interesting game." Neal stated, glancing down at Peter's bet with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't mock my five dollar bet, I'm an FBI agent after all. I don't normally gamble but I'm making an exception. You're consulting me on the process of gambling and what it's like to lose." Peter shot back.

"We will see about that last part, but if we're going to do it right let's make the bet a little bit more worthwhile."

Peter scoffed dramatically. "Better than my five dollars? I can't imagine it."

Neal grinned and shook his head.

"Well what do you have in mind?" Peter questioned.

"If Mozzie wins, we have more Saturdays like this instead of doing mortgage fraud cases. I'd probably worked a little harder to get away from the mob had I known I wouldn't be bent over paperwork all day." He teased, though Peter sensed the serious undertone.

"Well, if Elizabeth wins I still keep my bet at five dollars and we still do mortgage fraud cases, but I'll agree to the Saturdays as long as we can change one thing."

"What's that?" Neal asked cautiously, giving the older man a sideways glance.

Peter waited a moment, watched Elizabeth serve and took a sip of his beer. He watched them hit the birdie back and forth a few times before Elizabeth missed it first and Mozzie scored the point.

"Peter?" Neal questioned again as he waited for Elizabeth to serve.

"We can still have these Saturdays as long as you're not injured, because I can't have a disabled teammate. I take backyard sports very seriously." Although Peter's tone was lighthearted, Neal understood the important message.

Neal laughed. "As you should. It would just be plain unfair on Mozzie for both Mr. and Mrs. Suit to gain up on him."

"It would, but those two won't know what hit them when Butch and Sundance take the field."

"I look forward to it, Butch." Neal nodded and squinted against the dying afternoon sun as he watched the badminton game.

"Me too, Sundance. Me too." Peter agreed, but kept his gaze on Neal just a bit longer. The orange glow of the afternoon brought out the deep shades of blue swirled on the younger man's face and arms while his shirt hid the rest of the healing bruises. That heavy feeling he had pushed down to his stomach earlier started rising and upon its ascent, Peter recognized it as concern, guilt, rage and relief all mixed into one over Neal going missing and being found four days later almost brutally beaten by the Irish mob.

He tore his gaze away from his partner and watched the badminton game continue. The moonlit sky was slowly blanketing the landscape, the ambience turning into familiar sounds of the night, while the scene never changed in the backyard. Badminton continued in the luminance of the back porch light and playful jabs at one another filled the air well into the night.

Saturday afternoons were a bit of a marvel to Peter Burke. For such horror he saw in the world through his work at the FBI, the beauty he found in the small things like Saturday afternoons seemed to equal out the universe in some ways. However, it wasn't until Mozzie tripped and face planted into the grass while attempting to keep Elizabeth from scoring that Peter found the real marvel of that particular Saturday afternoon. It was then, at Neal's heartfelt laughter that came from deep inside his belly, that the universe felt equal again.

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**AN: I didn't intend for the story to turn out like this but when I listen to iTunes it determines what I write. lol. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


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